The Diabolic Path
by Carsten
Summary: On the world of Stratix IV, the young Inquisitor, Tristan Fortuno must hunt an apostate. But among the churning forges and twisting hives of the Imperial Forge world, will the Hunter become the Hunted?
1. Chapter 1

594.M41

Chapter 1

The Dark Road

They numbered in the hundreds. Cultists, heretics, and mutants. Music echoed throughout the subterranean levels of the massive forge complex on Stratix IV with the help of voxcasters. The music was a more noise... a cacophony of descant tones that wove together and struck the ear with an inherent wrongness that pervaded the senses. At least, that was how Tristan felt when he listened to it. His half dozen acolytes crept through the catwalks as silently as possible.

The cultists surrounded a metal workbench that had been converted into an altar. Upon it a heavily drugged woman moaned and moved her head about listlessly. She twisted her head back and forth quietly. Her hands and legs bound to the corners of the table. She was stripped of all but her undergarments. Tristan had no problem identifying her, however. Stratix IV's governor, Jenice La Roche. He furrowed his brow as he watched from the shadows of one of the catwalks. Mostly hidden from view by the large metal vats which, when the forge was running, brought molten steel up to the upper levels of the forge. Jenice had been kidnapped moments ago. None but Tristan had any idea who had kidnapped the governor, or where they had gone. The Arbites were scouring the rest of the planet, searching through traffic reports, busting down doors, and canvassing the hab-spires.

"Fortuno to all... Position Set?" Tristan whispered over the vox channel to his half dozen followers that were now scattered about the forge.

"Secure Fortuno. Awaiting your signal." The reports came in from each of the acolytes.

Stratix IV had only recently come to the attention of the Ordo Hereticus with the death of Cardinal Alessaunder. The Cardinal had been found in his bed, splayed out like an angel. Wings, stretched out of his own flayed skin, completed the picture. In the dead Ecclesiarch's blood, arcane symbols were scrawled on the wall above his bed. Inquisitor Tristan Fortuno had arrived only a day later. The Arbites didn't need to know who was behind it. Nor did he need the Ecclesiarchy standing in his way if he told them who it was. Xanatov Victris, a member of the Frateris Militia of the Ecclesiarchy had fought bravely for the Imperium in times past. But each battle showed a slight change in Xanatov's actions. They became more and more brutal. More and more innocent people died as he denounced them unclean. And most disturbingly, some of them were found ritually flayed open. Their skin stretched unnaturally to look like the wings of an angel. Xanatov had fallen off the grid for over two decades. Many presumed him dead, but the Inquisition never closed his file. Despite the Ecclesiarchy's insistence that his band of the Frateris Militia had been wiped out in a battle against an Ork incursion, the Inquisition wanted a body. There was none to be had.

The Ordos of the Inquisition didn't always get along with the Ecclesiarchy, and though the Cardinal himself had been murdered, Tristan didn't need the headache of dealing with his successor.

"Brothers and sisters!" Cried a shrill voice as the chanting stopped and the voxcasters went silent. The cultists parted and a wild-eyed man stepped forward to the table. His bald head glittered and shimmered as the small electoos that covered his scalp flickered in the poor lighting of the forge.

"We have found a source of corruption! We have brought the Governor here to be redeemed! TO BE BROUGHT TO THE EMPEROR! We have been set upon this path by an angel of divine providence! The transformation of this unclean one into an angel of the Emperor's own making is at hand my brothers and sisters! We shall purify her!" Xanatov screeched his words. The crowd of cultists shouted and shrieked and whooped in an ever louder ecstasy. Xanatov reached to the tattered, loose fitting robes and withdrew a wicked looking dagger.

Governor La Roche moaned at the shrieking and catcalling and cheering of the cultists around her, blissfully unaware of whatever was going on around her.

Tristan stood from his hiding place and drew his auto-pistol at Xanatov and cried out over the crowd.

"Xanatov Victris! In the name of the Immortal Emperor, empowered by the Holy Inquisition, I name you Hereticus and declare you anathema to the Imperium!" Tristan's voice boomed. From his high location, his voice carried over the shouting of the cultists. The crowd of heretical filth looked up to Tristan's position, as did Xanatov.

"AN AGENT OF THE DARK ONES! KILL HIM!" Screeched Xanatov, enraged at having been interrupted.

The auto-pistol in Tristan's hand barked as he pulled the trigger and fired, aiming for Xanatov. The slugs missed, slamming into a cultist that shoved their beloved leader to the ground for cover. From various points around the room, Tristan's acolytes fired their weapons. A grenade from Sawyer Marn's Voss-pattern grenade launcher exploded and sent half a dozen of the cultists flying through the air, their bodies broken and limbs twisted to odd angles. Las bolts from four different positions fired and cut down the cultists, who now began to panic. Tristan fired his auto-pistol once more, sending more slugs into the churning mass of the cultists as they did their best to find cover. Most fled in fear. A few fought back, former members of the Frateris Militia under Xanatov's command that were quite well armed. Tristan crouched as shots rang off of the catwalk railing from a stubber. Another grenade from Marn's grenade launcher sent a shockwave through the fleeing cultists. Several, armed with little more than scraps of pipe and iron bars, made their way to the catwalk, intent on bringing down the one who dared attack their master in the midst of his most unholy work. Tristan turned as he heard a snarling howl of rage behind him. A simultaneous ricochet off of the railing forced Tristan to stumble backward with a clatter onto the catwalk as a cultist with a large twisted piece of steel stood over him, the steel raised and ready to end Tristan's life.

The sneer of the cultist turned into a look of shocked surprise as twin crystalline blades erupted from its chest and then moved laterally. Having slipped between the ribs and punctured the lungs, the cultist was nearly cut in half before being pushed over the railing and landing on the floor with a sickening wet crunch. Tarvanna stared at Tristan with the cold glare she typically wore. The assassin merely nodded before leaping away over the catwalk to land on the ground. The few remaining cultists were cowering behind barrels and refuse and overturned work tables, trying to mount a pathetic defense of their efforts, but it was over. In moments they were dead. Brought down by las fire, blasted apart by Marn's grenade launcher, or cut to shreds by Tarvanna's fractal blades. When all was over, the members of Tristan's team searched the dead for any sign of Xanatov.

While his acolytes were busy, Tristan made his way to the governor and gave her a quick look over for injuries. She smelled of Obscura and her eyes were widely dilated. Withdrawing a small dagger from his belt, Tristan cut at the bonds on her wrists and hands.

"No sign of 'im boss." Marn grunted as he raised the grenade launcher and slipped it over his shoulder, pulling out a lho-stick and lighting it. Sawyer took a deep drag and smiled a bit. There were two things Sawyer loved... His killing, and his women... And he enjoyed a lho-stick after each.

Tristan snorted in frustration.

"Damn." He said as he withdrew his long top coat and slipped it over Governor La Roche's body, ensuring she was covered. The rest of his group stepped forward. "Are there any clues to his whereabouts?" Tristan asked.

Beyond a few identity badges and places of work on the cultists, there was nothing. Each shook their heads except for Tarvanna. With a quick whistle, Tristan looked toward her. She tossed a small metal tag his way. Ripped from the clothing of one of the Frateris Militia, it was an identification badge with a security code on the back from a shipping and distribution center that ensured the goods manufactured here on the forge world were shipped out to the proper place in the Imperium.

Tristan read the badge.

BRASSUS SHIPPING, DOCK 194-B.

It was as good a lead as any they'd had so far. With a nod to Tarvanna, Tristan gathered up the Governor in his arms. "Come on... We have to get out of here before they regain their wits and return. Making their way out of the forge complex, through back alleys, the Inquisitor and his group ran.

* * *

"She's stable. The Obscura overdose was not fatal, but it is good that you rescued her when you did..." Said Administrator Mennel. Behind him stood a very angry looking Arbites officer, his handlebar mustache twitching in irritation.

"We could have done a lot more if you'd informed us of your visit and worked with us inquisitor." The Arbites Officer said with a gruff, accusatory tone.

Tristan had been dreading this confrontation, but knew it to be necessary.

"Investigator Dariel. With all due respect, I have my reasons for working on this alone and keeping my business hidden." Tristan said, trying to keep his tone in check.

"That still doesn't explain why you wouldn't come to the Arbites and work with us. We could have rounded up the entire cult! We could have -" Dariel said, raising his voice angrily.

"The cult is of no importance! And we will gladly give you all of the leads we have so that you and your men may hunt them down to your heart's content. What IS of importance Investigator, is how a known heretic and the remainder of his unit of the Frateris Militia managed to get on Stratix IV without the Arbites even knowing he was here. Xanatov Victris is of importance. His group of Frateris Militia, many of whom died tonight, is of importance. Bored factory workers are your concern Investigator Dariel. Xanatov Victris is mine!" Tristan interrupted, fixing the Investigator with a hard stare.

"I... But.. Er..." Dariel sputtered, utterly taken off guard.

"Gentlemen... Please. The Governor is being tended to in only the next room by her private physicians. I am sure that Inquisitor Fortuno did not wish to confound the situation by announcing his arrival or place the Governor in any further danger. There is wisdom in the Inquisitor's approach that your own men employ in hostage situations do they not Investigator?" Mennel asked, his voice silky smooth as he did his best to mollify the agitated Arbites Investigator.

"Well... yes... we send in small teams to secure the hostages in such situations." He said with a frown. "But we have our men outside waiting to apprehend or kill any cultists once those hostages are secured." He pointed out.

"Xanatos Victris is not some aggravated hostage taker. He is not the garden variety cultist. He is a dangerous interstellar criminal, an apostate, and a highly intelligent enemy of the Imperium. We have disrupted his work here. We have sent him running, and now he is frightened. He will make mistakes. Mistakes we can capitalize upon while the Arbites does their fine work of gathering the cultists he's abandoned and bringing them to justice." Tristan said with a nod to Dariel. "I am certain you will execute your duties with efficiency Investigator. But please do not question my methods."

"Of course Inquisitor... I was merely upset at the situation and at the thought that we could have been of greater help to your investigation." Dariel apologized. Mennel gave a half smile and a nod, clapping Dariel on the shoulder.

"We shall hold you back no longer Inquisitor. Please keep us informed. When the Governor comes around I am certain she will wish to reward you for your work and extend her thanks personally." Administrator Mennel spoke.

"My work is reward enough Administrator. I will see you and the Governor later. For now, I have work to do. Investigator Dariel, I will have my savant forward all the information to you as soon as it is compiled so your people may get to work hunting down the rest of the cultists." Tristan said with a small bow as he excused himself.

As Tristan left and rejoined his followers in the antechamber just outside the Governor's audience hall, Tristan turned to his closest companion, Sawyer Marn.

"What do we do now boss?" Marn asked as he stepped up.

"We send a message to our ship, have our dear friend Havelock compile all the information about the cultists, including their identities, and have him forward it to the local Arbites." Tristan responded.

"And then?" Sawyer pressed, spitting on the sidewalk once they'd exited the building.

"Then we head to Dock 194-B and Brassus Shipping... And find out what Xanatov is doing there." Tristan said grimly.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Road of Glory

Fortuno's savant, Havelock, quickly provided the Arbites with all of the details Tristan had agreed to disclose. It was just enough to ensure that Investigator Dariel was appeased, without giving him any information that would let the the Arbites interfere with Tristan's investigation and the hunt for Xanatov. The rented speeder carrying Tristan and his cadre slipped through the smoky, polluted air of the massive forge world. Plumes of yellow-brown smoke, full of noxious chemical fumes spewed forth from hundreds of exhaust stacks from the manufactora below.

Dock 194-B was a fairly long ride from where they'd originally encountered Xanatov and his ilk. Tristan reasoned that it was only logical to assume that Xanatov and his Frateris Militia followers had kept a speeder of their own somewhere nearby, thus allowing for their hasty escape. For when the Arbites had shown up to clean up the warehouse and any stragglers that remained, there was no sign of Xanatov or his brethren.

"What d'ya think we'll find at the dock?" Sawyer asked, running his fingers gently along the Voss-pattern grenade launcher.

"With the likes of Xanatov Victris? Who knows? But it's sure to be trouble in any event." Tristan answered, pulling his auto-pistol from the shoulder harness, checking the magazine. Just talking about the apostate made Tristan uneasy.

The speeder pulled up to spaceport block 194, owned entirely by Brassus shipping. Tristan ordered the speeder set down between block 193 and 194. The Inquisitor and his Acolytes exited the speeder and headed to the main entrance of Brassus Shipping. Everything looked normal. Tristan noted nothing out of the ordinary from the outside. That only served to make him all the more nervous. Steeling his nerves, he nodded to his companions and withdrew his auto-pistol. Sawyer stepped forward and kicked in the front door. The heavy metal door screeching open on rusty hinges and slammed against the ferro-crete walls of the industrial shipping building. As Tristan and his followers burst in, terrified screams and shouts echoed around the room as people saw the heavily armed group.

"Don't shoot!" Cried a balding man behind the front desk, his hands in the air. Others cowered beside walls and behind chairs.

Tristan stepped forward, his auto-pistol readied, though pointed toward the ceiling.

"I am Tristan Fortuno of the Holy Inquisition. Cooperate and none shall be harmed. Impede my investigation and none shall be spared. Step forward." The Inquisitor commanded, flashing his rosette. Tristan glared at the man who'd begged them not to shoot.

The balding man stepped forward, his thinning wispy grey hair tossing about as he moved as swiftly as his old bones would carry him. The mottled skin of his scalp was visible as he bowed before Tristan and company.

"We are simply a shipping facility my lord Inquisitor. We have always been upright in our reportings to the Administratum!" He blubbered as he barely kept himself together.

"The Inquisition does not care about your shipping manifests. We have reason to believe that a dangerous heretic and murderer... Xanatov Victris and his accomplices, may be using one of your docks as a base of operations. Dock 194-B. You will grant us access immediately." Tristan ordered with a cold stare.

"Wha? What evidence? We have never heard of such a person? We will comply surely, but please explain so we may better help the Inquisition. None of us desire to run afoul of the Inquisition." The balding man said with a quick nod and a pleading tone.

Tristan fished around in his pocket and pulled the Ident badge from his brown overcoat pocket, tossing it to the man. For a moment the man just stared, but he quickly scooped up the badge and moved behind the desk. Tristan followed. Running the badge through a security scanner, the older man, obviously a supervisor or manager from his desk, frowned at the readouts.

"Very disturbing my lord Inquisitor. This badge belonged to Thalo Narson... He was fired some weeks ago. He was caught using Obscura on the job. He was a loading supervisor in Dock 194-B." The man told Tristan.

Tristan frowned at this revelation.

"Then he is either dead, or in league with Xanatov. Get us into that warehouse. We require access to ensure a thorough search." He ordered sharply.

"Y-yes sir. Of course." Said the man, stuttering a bit as attention was turned off of the fired employee and back onto him. With a quick few taps on the keypad of the security cogitator, a loud buzzing was heard over the loudspeakers. "The tram just down the hallway will take you to Dock 194-B. Search as long as you like my lord... And let me know if you require anything further." He said with a nod.

Tristan turned and led his crew down the hall toward the tram station that would take them through the massive dock complex and loading facility.

"I don't trust him." Sawyer said.

"I don't trust him either my friend. Which is why we must be careful here." Tristan said as they boarded the tram car. Once aboard, the tram slid almost silently along the rail, bringing them through the warehouse complex and toward Dock 194-B. It took only moments to arrive at their destination and they stepped off of the tram onto a platform that led to a catwalk over the work floor. Large crates and boxes and sealed shipping containers littered the floor. Not a worker or machine was in sight.

Tristan once more drew his auto-pistol.

"Something isn't right here." He muttered. Sawyer and the rest armed themselves as they made their way down to the work floor and began moving around the boxes, checking corners and searching through the massive shipping dock. Tristan stepped around a shipping container and pressed a hand against the door. The door of the container squealed and he blinked to find it unsealed.

Fortuno opened the box and stepped inside, letting in the light from the warehouse dock. As he stepped in, a light within the box flicked on. A large stone statue lay on its back inside the shipping container, packed in a foam substance to keep it from jostling about. He frowned a bit as he looked over the discovery. Upon first glance it looked like one of the angels that typically decorated the Cathedrals and Temples of the Ecclesiarchy. But there was something... off, about this one.

Tristan brushed his hand over the sheer plastic, ripping it away to examine it closer. As he pressed a hand to the stone, he withdrew it in shock. The statue was warm to the touch.

In the cool open atmosphere of the warehouse, the creation was easily body temperature if not warmer. Tristan looked over it as the hairs on the back of his neck pricked up. The angel's face seemed to flicker under the light. Tristan shook his head as if shaking off a dream and did a double take. No... It wasn't sparkling and flickering.

'Must be the light playing over the imperfections in the stone it was cut from.' Tristan thought as he pulled back more of the plastic. In the angel's hands it held a skull with the sign of the aquila. The double-headed eagle of the Imperium, and an oddly curved dagger. Tristan frowned at that. He could remember no such symbolism that was attributed to any saint, which the Ecclesiarchy typically modeled their angels after.

_'The dawn of awakening has come.'_ A voice seemed to echo around the container. Tristan jumped back in surprise and slammed back into the metal wall of the container. He raised his autopistol and pointed toward the entrance. Stepping out, cautiously, he looked around, moving around the corner.

"Fortuno to Sawyer. Report position." He said warily as he continued searching about, stepping back into the container. A minute passed.

"Fortuno to all. Report positions." He tried once more. Again there was a long and eerie silence over the vox.

_'Your ascension is at hand.'_ The voice echoed once more and Tristan turned to face the odd statue. He stepped around the edges of it and stepped away from the statue. There was something very... very wrong here. As Tristan stepped away, he called to the vox once more.

"Fortuno to all... Report positions." He said, an edge of panic entering his voice.

"Tristan? Where have you been? We've been calling for you for some time now." Sawyer's voice responded, worry evident in his tone.

"Praise the Emperor. Regroup at the tram station. Now." Tristan ordered and jogged toward the tram station. Very few things caused the Inquisitors of the Holy Ordos fear, but that stone angel, the voice, it was all too surreal. It gnawed at his heart and sapped the courage from his breast as he jogged through the artificial alleys made by stacks of crates and boxes. As he regrouped with his squad at the tram station, they looked at him oddly.

"You all right boss?" Sawyer asked.

"You look as though you'd seen a ghost sir." Added one of the other Acolytes.

Tristan reached up and ran his fingers through his hair. He blinked in surprise as his hand came away wet from a cold sweat. He realized he was panting.

"There is something very wrong here." Tristan echoed his earlier feelings. "Come on... There is something more here than simply a cult using a warehouse supervisor's Ident badge to gain access to this shipping dock." He said as they stepped onto the tram.

* * *

When the tram slowed to a stop by the Brassus Shipping main office, Tristan stepped out into the hallway. His group piled out behind him and stepped along the corridor. The only sound aside from their boots clattering on the tile floor was the soft clinking of a metal tube as it bounced and rolled down the hallway toward them.

Tristan was barely able to begin shouting a warning when the grenade exploded with a loud crack and a blinding flash. It disoriented him and he turned about, flailing with his arms clumsily as his eyes struggled to adjust to the changes from light to bright light and back again. His ears were ringing and no matter what he did, it wouldn't stop. A pair of rough, large hands grabbed him. A heavy blow to the back of his head stole his consciousness.

* * *

Hours later, Tristan awoke. He grunted and opened his eyes. The lights were so bright they were disorienting. His limbs ached and felt like lead. Twisting his arm and shifting about, he felt the bindings cut into his wrists and his ankles as he leaned against a table, strapped up to the table.

"Wha-Where am I?" He croaked out as he groggily shook his head. The dull throbbing ache in the back of his skull reminded him of what happened.

"Xanatov..." He muttered. He didn't know how he knew, but Tristan just knew that the apostate had to be behind this.

"Ahhh... You are roused from slumber. Good." Said the silky voice of Xanatov Victris.

Tristan fixed his eyes upon him and snarled.

"You will die heretic! I will see you burn!" Tristan gnashed his teeth as he spoke the threat.

"Empty bravado from a daemon tainted cur. One of the un-ascended cannot possibly understand the work I do." Xanatov said, delivering a fierce open backhand to Tristan's cheek.

"Where are my companions, dog?" Tristan asked, growling a bit and glaring at Xanatov while he did his best to suppress the stinging sensation on his cheek. He looked at the wild-haired heretic and Xanatov grinned in return, stepping aside out of Tristan's view.

"They have ascended..." The heretic muttered and swept his hand around the room.

Tristan blinked a bit and took in the scene. He was in a large circular chamber. Nailed to the walls, on large wooden flats, were the bloody remains of five of his companions. Their skin and ribs peeled away and broken behind them, so their destroyed backs were splayed open to look like angels with their wings unfurled. The skin was stretched unnaturally.

"You... SON OF A BITCH!" He shouted in rage as he twisted once more against the bonds.

_'This one's ascension will be sweet indeed.'_ Clamored a voice.

The voice snapped his attention to the center of the room. The voice that he'd heard in the shipping container. It was here. He looked and his eyes fell upon the stone angel. The face sparkled, though it was not from the light playing across the stone... Something inside the angel was glowing. Tristan suddenly felt like a mouse caught before a very large... very hungry cat.

"The time of your ascension... Is upon us." Xanatov cackled as he drew a blood-caked dagger from his robes.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The Trail of Night

_"His ascension will be sweet. But first he must know. Bring him to us."_ The angelic statue spoke. Xanatov's knife was raised in the air for the downward stab that would end Fortuno's life. He waited for it. It was coming... And then with the statue's words. It wasn't. Xanatov Victris turned, puzzled.

"Masters? You... You wish to speak to this one? But obviously this pathetic creature is unworth YOUR time. Let me dispose of him so he may ascend with the others." Xanatov pled with the angel.

_"You DARE to defy our wishes?"_ The statue's voice echoed and boomed at twice the volume it had before. Whatever it was controlling that statue, Xanatov had succeeded in raising its ire.

"N-n-no Masters! I... I was merely... trying to..." Victris fumbled for the words but they failed him. He turned and glared at Tristan and shoved the dagger into his belt before untying his hands and feet.

"The Masters wish to speak with you, daemon tainted filth..." Xanatov cursed at him, still convinced that he was the pure one. Tristan glared at him and stepped forward, looking at the statue with increasing curiosity. Why had it spared him? What did it want with him?

_A shadowy world. A city devoured by night. An orgy of blood and pain and sacrifice. A dark ghostly light illuminating everything. An Imperial Hive world consumed in darkness. The ruins of the world glitter like lost gems. The vision speaks with a soft voice._

_ 'The Harrowing'. The voice of the angel spoke in the midst of the vision. The voice echoed around Tristan and moved through him. He was swept away into a sea of faces and limbs and a press of bodies. All surrounded an obsidian altar. They chanted. Some prayed to the Emperor for protection. Some called him a corpse and a thousand other insults... Still others prayed to much darker entities than even the daemons of the warp._

_ They came from the sky. Massive figures on wings of fire, leaving contrails of smoke and fumes behind them as they dove and danced a deadly and incongruous ballet in the air. Occasionally one would dip down and lift up one of the supplicants at the altar, raising him higher and higher and higher only to tear the heart out of its chest and drop the hapless fool back to the earth. It happened again and again as these massive men, these... warp spawned demons of men, continued their feast. Yet the crowd never wavered. It never shrieked or panicked at the slaughter of its own members. Instead, the crowd cheered and began to sing. It was a dirge of hate and suffering as their voices ululated in a discordant cacophony of malice._

_ The slaughter continued unabated through the eyes of the angel statue. Through the eyes of many angel statues... All of them had once been part of a giant cathedral to the Imperium and the God Emperor of Man. When eternal night fell over the world of Nox, the Ecclesiarchy had been quick to abandon its people there. Increasingly dangerous, everyone loyal to the Emperor had left. Leaving only the angels. Leaving only those angels and the people therein. Then came the real angels. The angels which brought power and death and mayhem. Their lives were those of gods among men. They wielded fear and catastrophe as nimbly and skillfully as a painter with a brush._

_ That was when the Angels had awoken._

_ In the centuries between the Long Dark descending upon Nox and the reclamation by the creatures serving the corpse-god, the Angels had learned of ascension. The angels had learned the truth of life. It was brutal. And meant to be sacrificed. And they, like those angels of night, those lords of darkness that consorted with the same beings that woke the statues from their slumber, would now feast and reap a great harvest. Though they could not do so on their own... that was what the fleshy heretic was for._

_ But his service... was at an end._

_"Do what you must... Ascend..."_ Commanded the stone angel.

Tristan turned and faced Xanatov who'd stood back while the visions had flooded into Tristan's mind, unbidden. A feral grin crossed Tristan's face as thoughts not his own and actions that were not his dictated that his muscles move. His arms jutted forward and he pounced, grabbing Xanatov in a tackle, catching the cleric in a flying tackle. His hands gripping the Ecclesiarch's throat as he throttled him. The instinct had always been there. It had been in Tristan's mind the whole time. To murder. To kill Xanatov Victris. The only thing that had changed was the reason why...

It seemed like another lifetime ago when Victris had to die because he was a heretic. Now Tristan choked the life out of him while a panicked Xanatov struggled and flailed under his iron grip while the air was stolen from his lungs and life was choked out of him slowly. Now Tristan choked the life out of him... because he wanted to ascend. The vision that the angels had granted was one of ecstasy, was one of bliss and carnal destruction that would render humanity a vestigial memory... It was unnecessary. Like a butterfly might view the husk of its cocoon after emerging. The ascension would transform him.

KRAKOOOM! An explosion threw Tristan off of Victris and both men were showered by jagged chunks of stone as the angel statue shattered. A primal shriek of pain and suffering echoed throughout the warehouse.

Ringing in his ears made Tristan blink and clap his hands over his ears in pain. He looked up and around, blood running down his temple from a cut made by a jagged piece of the statue. Xanatov was nowhere to be seen. A pair of hands grabbed Tristan and raised him up.

"Inquisitor! Are you all right?" Asked a young Arbites officer. His voice was muted by the shockwave still ringing around in Tristan's ears.

"He is fine." Said a subdued but familiar voice as Tarvanna took the Arbites by the shoulder and moved to inspect Tristan herself.

Tristan shook his head and looked at her. "How? Wha!" he asked in disbelief at seeing her. He had presumed that one of the bodies nailed up and flayed open against the wall had been hers.

Tarvanna merely glanced over her shoulder at Investigator Dariel.

"Good thing you sent Miss Tarvanna here to us when you did Inquisitor. We've managed to round up most of the cult, but it seems that your quarry has slipped the noose." Dariel said as he looked around while the Arbites began to remove Tristan's friends from the pallets they'd been displayed upon.

Tarvanna gave Tristan a warning glance. He'd given no such order.

Tristan knew, however, that Tarvanna had acted accordingly and properly. "Yes... But it doesn't matter... I know where he's going." Tristan said with a furrowed brow.

"You do?" Tarvanna and Dariel asked in unison, both equally surprised.

"But how? You haven't interrogated any suspects, you haven't seen any of the evidence we can gather here." Dariel said, mystified at the certainty in Tristan's tone.

"It does not matter how I know Investigator Dariel, suffice to say that I do know. They are heading for the planet Nox." Tristan informed him.

"Then we'll search every freighter from stem to stern for Victris. I'll have the planet put on lockdown and have the governor sign off on it immediately." Dariel said with a nod, already formulating a plan of action.

"No!" Tristan said. The vehemence in his tone caught Dariel off guard, and caught Tristan off guard even moreso. Tarvanna blinked in surprise, but her gaze once more turned cold and calculating.

"Sorry... No I want Xanatov free to leave. There is something larger at work and I plan to use him to find out who his master's are. I want him to lead me to them and now that his base of power on Stratix IV has been broken, that is precisely what he will do. Gather up his remaining followers if any, and leave to regroup and lick his wounds. I intend to follow him." Tristan said. This seemed to mollify Dariel, but not Tarvanna. She maintained her cold, calculating gaze.

'She knows...' Tristan thought. He didn't know HOW she knew... But somehow something inside of him told him that she was aware of the angels and their supernatural existence. Dariel thought it over for a moment and nodded.

"It makes sense. Very well. If there's nothing further Inquisitor, I'll be taking care of the evidence we find here. I'll be sure to pass it along to you no matter what we find." He told Inquisitor Fortuno.

"Thank you Investigator. I'm sure it will be most helpful." Tristan nodded as Dariel turned and began coordinating the evidence gathering.

"I will meet you outside." Tarvanna spoke in a clipped tone.

"Yes. I'll just be a moment." Tristan told her. As she walked off, he turned and looked at the shattered stone angel. Its body fragmented from the impact of the grenade. Tristan stepped forward and looked down as the toe of his boot brushed against the remainder of the head of the angel. Half its face gone, the remaining eye looked at him. It looked through him.

Tristan felt a sudden chill run down his spine.

Whether Xanatov was fleeing to Nox or not... Tristan was going to the dark planet. He had to... They were there... and they beckoned him.


End file.
